Never Let Go
by patster223
Summary: Shawn had no interest in being a cop, in being a hero, and nothing was going to change that. But then his life takes an unexpected turn, and he grasps for the life he never thought he wanted. AU character death, and the story of what happens after.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.**  
A/N: **This is a fic I wrote about a year ago (gosh has it been long). I figured I might as well post it over here while I'm working on my current Sherlock WIP (which should be up sometime in December). Since it's already completed I should be uploading a chapter a day, I won't keep you guys in too much suspense. ; )  
Just a general thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed my work so far, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

_1995_

Shawn sat on the lawn chair and stretched out his legs. He soaked up the sun and sighed. Solitude. As a teen, he had found the notion exciting, thinking of it as independence. Now it felt like he was about to be suffocated by it. The house was quiet and calm on the surface, but under that lay the tension that had been stirring around for the past few years. With it came a silence, a nervous silence that occurred when two people under the same roof couldn't even talk to each other anymore. He really didn't even go into his house anymore. Most of his time he spent at Gus' house or outside, if only to avoid the crushing silence of his house for a little while.

He looked up at the clouds, wondering how long he should wait before dragging Gus away from studying and forcing him to go to the arcade. Shawn looked at his watch. He figured he'd let Gus study for another fifteen minutes before inviting himself in.

His ears perked up as he heard the wooden fence creak and he looked up to see his dad's partner walking towards him. Shawn frowned slightly, quickly going through all the reasons in his mind why his dad's partner would come here alone. He wasn't left with many.

"Hey, Daren," Shawn said standing up.

Daren smiled thinly and shook Shawn's hand. "Hi, Shawn," he said, his voice soft.

Shawn's eyebrows shot downwards. He noticed the way Daren's hands clenched slightly, like they always did when he was nervous. "What's up?" he said.

Daren sighed. "Shawn, you better sit down for this."

Shawn felt his insides go cold. He knew what was coming next. His father had taught him how to break news to someone; the first thing you do is sit them down. If something was wrong with his mom or Gus, his dad would be the one giving him news. But his dad wasn't here…that could only mean…no. No, there was no way. It wasn't possible.

Shawn sat down stiffly, sitting on the edge of the lawn chair. His foot started tapping lightly as Daren joined him on the second chair. His stomach churned from the anxiety and he felt like he was about to be sick. Shawn took a deep breath. "Tell me what happened," he said calmly.

Daren leaned forward and looked Shawn in the eye. His expression had never been so serious, not that Shawn could remember.

"Your father was shot, son," he said sympathetically.

Shot...that wasn't possibly. It just _wasn't. _Sure, Shawn had been expecting bad news, but God...this just wasn't something that could happen. It wasn't something that was supposed to happen. His dad couldn't be...No.

Before Shawn could even respond, Daren continued. "We were trying to rescue a hostage; a young man with a rich father, not that much older than yourself. We had the building surrounded, expecting to surprise the bastards. We thought it was all going according to plan." Daren shook his head and chuckled humorlessly. "It couldn't have been farther from the truth. Your father only observed that they were onto us at the last minute, and ordered everyone to leave the building. I had just come out of the building when I heard the gunfire."

Shawn's hands clenched the arms of the chair. He felt his stomach twist and he knew his breathing was coming a little faster than normal. Daren paused for Shawn to say something, but his mouth seemed to be frozen shut.

"Your father was shot getting the hostage out of there you know," he said with a small note of pride. "He died a hero's death."

Shawn looked up at him wordlessly. His mouth parted slightly, but no words would come out. His throat seemed to be closing up and it felt like he was choking. He probably would have sat there with his mouth agape forever if he hadn't been startled from his reverie by Daren.

"I'm so sorry, Shawn," he said, wiping the corners of his eyes. "You know your father was a great man, and I was honored to have him as my partner." After a pause he added, "And my friend."

Shawn nodded without really listening to what Daren was saying. His ears seemed to be buzzing with his own unidentifiable thoughts right now. With a great deal of effort, Shawn took a deep breath and put a small sad smile on his face, if only to have some expression for Daren to see.

"Thanks for telling me, Daren," he said flatly. He knew Daren wasn't the bit fooled by his act, but he was grateful for him not prodding him into talking about it. He must be used to avoiding Spencer tabooed topics by now.

"What do you think you're going to do, Shawn?" Daren asked.

Shawn frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You're 18, technically an adult. Even so, your mom is out of town and if you stayed here you'd be all to yourself," Daren said looking inside the barren house from the screen door. "I just need to know if you plan on staying at a friend's house or here so I can update you on his funeral plans."

"He made funeral plans?" Shawn asked weakly, feeling like he was living a dream or, more accurately, a nightmare.

"As soon as he joined the force," Daren said softly. For a moment, the two sat with the breeze on their faces and Shawn closed his eyes. From the moment his father had become a police officer, he had been prepared for death. Shawn had always known it _could _happen, but he never actually thought it would. Not to his dad. Apparently, his father had known better than him. _As usual_, he thought, unable to stop resenting the man even after his death.

Shawn opened his eyes and looked back into the house. He hadn't thought of it like a home; not in a long time. He had trouble just staying in it for meals and sleeping. The thought of calling it _his_ made his heart ache. Shawn shook his head. "I think I'll stay at Gus' for awhile," he said.

Daren nodded. "I think that's for the best. It'll be good for you to have a friend around right now." He stood up and pulled Shawn into a quick embrace. "I really am sorry, Shawn," he said sadly. "Your father wanted badly to see you graduate."

Shawn nodded without saying anything. He gave Daren another false smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for coming over and telling me, Daren," he said.

"If you need anything just call," he said walking back to his car. Shawn nodded once more and went into the kitchen. He looked around, seeing the room as if for the first time. His father had bought his house right before he was born – he had been raised in it. Shawn had always seen the house as his dad's, even though his mom had paid for it as well. Henry had taken pride in the house and was always the one to take care of the lawn and cook the dinners; taking care to do his chores daily. But now that his father wasn't there, the house seemed so empty, so sad. Like a lost dog left out in the rain by its owner.

Shawn wondered what would happen to the house and realized he would most likely get it in the will. His mom wouldn't want it, and after the separation Henry had no one to give the house too except Shawn. Shawn wasn't sure how he felt about that. It seemed wrong to own his father's house while the many ghosts of their relationship were there. He remembered fights and arguments taking place in this house and winced at the thought of having to own the place which inhabited so many memories.

Shouldn't he be sad that his dad was…was…

He wasn't sure what to feel; anger at his dad dying while being his workaholic self, grief that he was gone forever, or a kind of sick jealousy that his father had died saving this other kid without knowing what would happen to Shawn because of it. Most likely he was feeling all three. Though at the same time he felt a nothingness, like when his father left he took something inside of Shawn with him, leaving him hollow. Damn it, why had his dad gotten himself shot? Henry was just leaving him to suffer for it. Shawn sighed and rubbed his head to sooth the headache that was slowly forming.

Shawn turned his eyes away from the house and his eyes fell upon the phone that hung from the kitchen wall. Not knowing what else to do, how else to avoid the thoughts that were slowly crushing him, he picked up the phone and dialed a number. Shawn absently thought that it felt too cold to be a May evening. The phone rang five times before the person on the other end picked up.

"Burton," Gus answered. Shawn could imagine Gus being surrounded by books, studying restlessly for the far off finals, and being annoyed at the disturbance. Shawn almost hung up the phone then. Instead he swallowed and said, "Hey, it's Shawn."

"What part of, 'I'm studying,' don't you understand?" Gus said, annoyed. "I told you not to call-"

"Gus," Shawn interrupted. "My dad died."

In truth, Shawn hadn't planned to blurt it out like that. He wasn't even sure if he would have the strength to say it at all, thinking maybe he would just call Gus to pretend that today was normal. Once Shawn said the words aloud, he felt his stomach sink as the truth settled in. His dad was really dead. He wasn't coming back. Unexpected, crushing sadness enveloped him.

Shawn could imagine Gus' eyes widening on the other end of the line, and knew the textbooks had been forgotten.

"Oh my God…Shawn, I'm so sorry," Gus said sincerely. Shawn knew that Gus meant it; meant it more than anyone else could. Yet the words didn't help him like he might have expected them to. Instead he only felt his sadness deepen as his father's death became that much more real. He wiped casually at his eyes, forgetting that Gus couldn't see him.

A silence grew between them, with the death of someone who had been like a father to both of them at the center.

"Do you want me to come over?" Gus asked. Shawn was grateful for Gus asking, knowing that Gus was as uncomfortable dealing with death as he was. At the same time, he felt a little like he was being coddled by Gus and Daren, and felt a twinge of anger. He pushed it down though; knowing that blowing up was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

"No thanks. But, listen, do you mind if I come over there?" Shawn asked, feeling like a child asking for his security blanket. "The house is empty right now, and I…I can't stay here," he said looking around at the house again. Spotting a picture of his father and him together, he turned away slightly.

He knew Gus was nodding on the other line. "Of course, Shawn, I'll tell my mom you're coming." After a pause Gus spoke again. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I honestly don't know," he said after a pause, knowing he could have lied, but at the same time feeling like it wouldn't have been right to lie to Gus. Not this time.

"I'm so sorry," Gus said again.

Shawn didn't say anything for a few seconds; just taking a last look around the house and mentally going over what he would bring to the Guster's house that evening. "I'll be right over," Shawn said finally, hanging up the phone while looking again at the picture of him and his dad together. Without knowing why, he grabbed it before he went upstairs.

It was a picture at an old campsite that Shawn and Henry had used to frequent. The trips had become less and less as the years went by, soon disappearing all together. This had been one of the last ones, and somehow his mom had gotten a picture of the two together, smiling. It was probably one of his happiest memories with his father.

Shawn sighed and was about to run his hand through his hair before realizing it was an old habit of his dad's. He went upstairs and packed a small backpack for his stay with the Guster's. Shouldering the bag, he took one last look around his dad's – now probably his – house, and walked out the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Impatient author is impatient. I waited a few hours before just going, "screw it," and now I'm just gonna post the whole story here. Lucky you!

Shawn stood on the Guster's porch for a second, feeling the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. He wasn't sure if he could go inside – it would be like admitting that without his dad and a friend, he was all alone. Gus was here, but Shawn knew that people could leave you in a blink of an eye. He'd experienced it more times than he wished to recount.

After a moment, Shawn knocked on the door, sensing its inhabitants go silent at their new visitor. He heard a shuffle of footsteps and the door opened, Gus behind it. "Hey, Shawn," Gus said softly. "My mom said you can stay here as long as you need." Shawn felt touched by the sentiment considering how Mrs. G never had seemed to like him much. He smiled and went inside.

The two friends went upstairs, their feet pounding on the steps as they had done ever since Gus first brought him to his house. Back then the house had seemed new and different, but by now it was like a second home to Shawn. He nodded at Mr. G as he passed him on his way to Gus' room, but didn't stick around to hear his sympathies.

Gus pulled the door softly shut behind him and sat down at his usual spot on the bed, while Shawn ignored the open beanbag chair and stood against the wall. Not bothering to put it down gently, Shawn threw his backpack down on the floor, deciding not to open it now.

For awhile there really wasn't anything to say. Shawn knew Gus was trying to read him now, but he wasn't sure what his friend saw on his face. Right now he just felt weary, and his heart felt heavy. Shawn looked at the clock on Gus' bedside table and was surprised to see it was only 5:30. It had only been a half an hour since he heard the news (his dad was dead…he just wouldn't think about it, he didn't need to), but it had felt like a painful eternity. Shawn still felt like this couldn't be real, like he was about to wake up any time now.

At last, Gus broke the silence. "Want to play Nintendo?"

Shawn was startled by the question that on any other day would have been normal, but today felt strange. Strange, but welcome. Gus was inviting him into normalcy, something Shawn realized he craved more than anything right now. Shawn nodded, and sat down next to the console.

For the next two hours, they didn't talk about death or inheritance or the future. They played the video game, goading each other on and shoving each other as the cheating began. At first Shawn felt bad feeling happy about something, but as soon as he gave into the game he was grinning, like it was just any other day and his dad was waiting for him at home with dinner. Mrs. G usually never let them play this long, but they knew she was making an exception tonight. Shawn pressed buttons rapidly, flailing as he tried to obscure Gus' focus and take advantage of any weakness. Gus was just as brutal back, even tackling Shawn to the ground at one point when Shawn won the round by covering Gus' eyes with his hands.

It was normal and it felt good, even if it would only be for a short while.

Eventually, Gus threw his hands up and shook his head. "No way am I playing with you anymore."

Shawn, breathing hard from all of his attempts at cheating, fell onto the ground. "Aha! You admit defeat. You finally learned you just can't beat me, right, buddy?"

"No way!" Gus said leaning against his bed. "I was about to beat you until you cheated! I'm not going to play with you if you keep covering the screen with your hand."

Shawn nodded. "Suuuuure, Gus, just keep telling yourself that. In the meantime, I'll be right here basking in my own glory," he said grinning and resting his head on the beanbag chair. It was abruptly pulled out from under him, and Shawn's head hit the floor. He winced, then sighed. "I may have deserved that."

"You know that's right," Gus said smirking.

Shawn grinned and adjusted himself so he was sitting on the beanbag chair. The last few hours had been like a break from reality, something he always loved. He had just gotten to be normal instead of being a kid without a dad. His smile slowly slipped off his face as his thoughts turned back to his dad.

Gus could tell from Shawn's expression what he was thinking about, and decided it would be best not to question him about it. Shawn never did like talking about his feelings, and making him talk about them was definitely not what Shawn wanted.

Shawn sat in thought for a while, unconsciously rubbing his hand through his hair. "Remember when we were scouts and my dad had us fly that rocket?"

Gus was surprised by the randomness of the question, but nodded. "Whoever got to it last had to watch the other eat ice cream," he remembered smiling. The memory was clear in both of their minds, as was many of the memories they shared with each other that featured a Henry life lesson.

"You took that rocket home," Shawn said, fiddling with the broken threads on the beanbag chair. "Do you still have it?"

Gus thought for a moment and shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. It's probably in the garage, in a box somewhere."

Shawn hummed in thought for a moment before nodding decidedly. "Well, let's go get a rocket then!"

Before Gus could think to question Shawn, his friend was already out the door, waiting for him to follow. Gus, feeling more than a little concerned for Shawn, once again allowed himself to be pulled into his friend's plans.

/

Shawn flipped the light switch in the garage and the small bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered on. Illuminated was the Guster's two cars, and behind them shelves of boxes.

Gus came into the garage to find Shawn wedged between the cars and the walls, trying to pry a box loose from its moorings. Gus was almost worried that the other boxes would fall on him, and felt a bit of relief when Shawn finally freed the box. Shawn carried it to him, a large old box simply labeled, "Gus."

After giving each other a look, Gus ripped the box open, wrinkling his nose at the amount of dust that was aroused. Shawn grinned. "Hope you don't have the plague in these," he laughed, browsing through the contents in the container.

The majority of the box housed old comic books of Gus' that he had forgotten about. There was a yo-yo in there from third grade as well. Not surprisingly, there was also a good deal of Shawn's things in there that had been begged, borrowed, or stolen. Shawn was amused to find his bike's tire in there, the only evidence besides the scar on Shawn's wrist of the Unicycle Incident.

After digging through the old objects for awhile, Shawn saw a flash of yellow, and grabbed the rocket from the bottom of the box.

He held it up for Gus to see, and they felt like treasure hunters, stumbling upon an ancient artifact. The once bright yellow rocket was dusty, and the paint was peeling. The nose was slightly bent from its multiple flights, and one of the wings had completely fallen off. The two then remembered why the Shawn and Gus Blaster (or Gus and Shawn Blaster depending on whom you asked) had been retired.

Shawn sat down on the floor, staring at the rocket in fascination, while Gus crouched down near him. Gus wasn't quite sure why Shawn had wanted the old rocket, or if Shawn even knew.

Shawn remembered seeing the rocket first take off after his father had set it up, with the promise of ice cream for the victor.

Shawn shook his head and smiled. "He was going to give the winner ice cream. And the loser had to watch the other eat it."

"He was always obsessed with results," Shawn sighed. "He always wanted me to be the best, and when I wasn't I was a disappointment. Hell, even when I was a winner I was a disappointment," he muttered, barely realizing he was saying it all aloud.

"He loved you, Shawn, winner or not," Gus interrupted. He knew it was true, and Shawn had to know it was true. If Shawn could tell by the soles of a man's boots that they cheated, then he had to know that his dad was proud of him.

"Did he say that?" Shawn asked, unconsciously mimicking his younger self only a short while after they flew the rocket.

Gus sighed. "He's your dad, Shawn. He didn't need to say it."

"Yeah, well I sure as hell wouldn't have minded hearing it," he said kicking the box. "As soon as I told him I wasn't going to enroll in the police academy, I was just a big disappointment."

Gus frowned, hating to see his friend this upset. But he sat silent; knowing the best thing to do when Shawn ranted about his dad was not to argue.

Shawn remembered his father making them watch him eat ice cream when they were finished with the rocket. He had loathed him them, for committing one of the most serious crimes an adult could make: withholding ice cream. Just another example of how his father had wanted results, results, results, just God damn results. Shawn threw the rocket to the ground, watching the wing come off a little as it hit the ground. He immediately felt remorseful and picked the rocket back up.

As much as he hated his dad, he couldn't help but feel special when his father looked proud of him. The occasions, though sometimes rare, made Shawn feel like he could do anything. Though Shawn knew his dad wanted him in the police academy, he felt like he could do so much more than that, like he could go to the moon in that yellow rocket if he tried.

Shawn wasn't sure if you could rightfully hate a man once he was dead, but right now he loathed his father. But he also loved him. _This would be a lot easier if I could just pick one,_ Shawn thought. He sat down next to Gus and held the rocket carefully in his hands.

"We had a lot of fun, didn't we?" Shawn said twirling the rocket in his hands. Gus nodded. "He was the best scout leader we ever had."

"He was the only scout leader we ever had," Shawn said rolling his eyes.

Gus shrugged. "Still, a great scout leader. And he was fun sometimes, you know? When you guys weren't…arguing," Gus said, regretting his last sentence as it came out of his mouth. Shawn only nodded though.

"We fought a lot," Shawn said simply. "Most of the time it didn't even seem to be about anything. We just fought."

Gus listened; realizing this was the most Shawn had talked about his dad ever. They both knew that what happened in the garage would stay in the garage, and for that Shawn was grateful.

Shawn didn't say that much more after that. He took his ramblings inside his head, wondering if the rocket was a sign of his hate for his father, or for his love. Or somehow both rolled into one. After a few minutes, he didn't have the slightest clue.

"Gus?" Shawn said after a long moment's thought.

Gus straightened up. "Yeah?" he asked.

"You'll…come to the funeral with me, right?" Shawn asked, still staring at the rocket.

Gus immediately nodded. "Of course I'll be there. He was important to me too," Gus said, and the news of Henry's death hit him then. He felt a sudden sadness, both for his friend and his father.

Shawn nodded. The news of his dad's death wasn't starting to ache a little less, like wounds usually do after a little while. Instead Shawn's thoughts seemed to be in even more turmoil, and every one of them seemed to be centered around his dad. It hurt, and Shawn instinctively pushed his emotions down.

"Thanks buddy," Shawn said gratefully. He looked at the rocket one last time before setting it back down in the box. "Come on; let's go play some more Nintendo before dinner's ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Shawn looked at himself in the mirror. He was donning a black, uncomfortable suit, and his tie felt like it was about to strangle him. Amazingly, his face was clean shaven for the first time since he was fifteen.

Shawn ran his hand through his hair, marveling at the new shorter length. Gus had insisted he cut his hair before the funeral, and instead of arguing he went to get a haircut. His long hair had always been an argument with his dad before he'd died. Henry thought it was ridiculous to have it that long, and for some reason Shawn didn't feel comfortable going to the funeral without having shorter hair. He had probably outgrown the hairstyle anyway…

He tightened his tie (as if it needed it), straightened his suit and did a quick once over of himself in the mirror. He was sure he would've looked almost acceptable in his dad's book, and smiled sadly at the thought of Henry seeing him like this. Shawn wondered if he'd be proud.

Shawn was almost about to leave when he remembered his earring. He looked at the piece of jewelry pierced into his ear. He had gotten his ear pierced as a sign of rebellion, knowing his dad would hate it. The earring was the one part of Shawn's wardrobe that didn't feel forced or faked. Everything else felt like an act he was putting on in memory of his dad. Shawn sighed and took off the earring, carefully placing it in his suit pocket. He looked in the mirror one last time and saw a man who didn't resemble remotely resemble Shawn Spencer. He sighed and walked out into the kitchen, where Daren and Gus were waiting for him.

"You ready?" Gus asked. Both he and Daren were wearing black suits almost identical to his. Shawn nodded numbly and the three walked to Daren's car. Shawn remembered the car well from the amount of times the man had driven over here with some new information for a case.

They walked past Shawn's motorcycle, and he felt a pit in his stomach. His dad had hated the damn thing. It was a menace, something that would get his son killed. _Yeah, well so would being a cop._

The car was silent as they began to drive. After all, what is there to say when you're driving to the funeral of a man who had touched the lives of all in the car?

It was a sunny Santa Barbara day outside, and Shawn absently thought that it was always raining at funerals in the movies.

Shawn had seen the funeral home before. He had gone there for cops his dad had known, but he himself had hardly spoken to. He had gone there to visit the morgue, to see his first dead body. Shawn remembered his mom hadn't been happy with his dad after that particular adventure. Hell, Shawn had even run through the funeral home at night on a dare. But he had never walked through it like this, with this feeling of dread and this lump in his throat.

Shawn saw the tent in the distant, and the casket that was sitting beneath it. Suddenly he felt a panic in his chest, an overwhelming need to get out of here. His breathing quickened and he put out his hand for Gus to stop.

Gus looked at Shawn in alarm, and Shawn just shook his head. "I can't go, Gus, I can't go to the man's funeral."

Daren approached Shawn, but Gus stopped him. "Go on ahead," he said; sensing this was a moment Shawn wanted to keep private. "We'll catch up."

Daren nodded and began walking towards the tent again, joining the countless other police men and women already gathered there.

"Shawn?" Gus asked his friend, who was now closing his eyes as if to block out the reality that had presented itself with the sighting of the casket.

"Gus, I can't go. I'm sorry, but I hate funerals. I can't stand in front of my dad's…" Shawn sighed and opened his eyes. "I can't go up there and pretend everything was just fine between me and him."

So that was it. Shawn didn't know whether to love or hate the man, didn't know whether to miss him or dance on his grave. Gus felt sympathy for his friend. It can't have been easy having Henry for a dad, and having him for a headstone wasn't going to be any easier.

"Shawn, I know you had your rough spots with your dad. But you can't just bail your own dad's funeral!" Gus exclaimed. The clouds were beginning to obscure the sun, casting shadow on the two.

"Well it's not like he's alive to be disappointed in me anymore," Shawn laughed, though his voice wavered. He ran his hand through his hair, and then immediately stopped, putting his hand down guiltily, as if he had done something wrong. He took a deep breath. "Thanks for this, Gus," he said, putting all of his energy into putting one foot in front of the other.

Gus nodded. "Of course, Shawn. Henry would come back and kill me if I didn't make you attend his funeral."

Shawn laughed at that and Gus had the feeling he was going to be okay today. He had no idea about the future – he wasn't psychic – but he hoped his friend could let Henry go. He knew his friend had trouble letting things go though, whether it was a grudge against his dad or a fight that they had seven years ago. Gus just hoped that this would be the exception.

The two arrived at the tent, and Shawn felt everyone's eyes go to them before quickly looking away. He was poor Henry Spencer's son. The boy who didn't have a father.

Shawn grimaced and took his seat in the front row. Behind him was a sea of black, police officers and detectives and friends and family. All here to see his dad one last time. Like he was a hero or something.

Daren was in the row behind him, and Gus in the seat next to his. Shawn saw his mom, dressed in a dark dress instead of her usual colorful clothing. She saw him and jogged the last few yards to see him. In spite of the occasion, Shawn smiled as she wrapped her arms around him. It was nice to see her again. Damn, it felt like she had left forever. He wondered how anyone could leave for so long, and guiltily thought back to his original plan of ditching Santa Barbara as soon as he could.

"How are you, Goose?" his mom asked as she sat in the seat next to him.

"I'm fine, Mom," Shawn said not looking at the casket in front of him. He turned to her and put on a smile.

His mom didn't fall for it. "Bullshit," she said, her eyes watering. Was she crying because her son felt like he needed it put on a mask of false happiness for her, or because her husband was dead? Shawn wasn't sure. "First the separation, now this…Shawn, I'm so sorry. I feel like this is my fault; I should have been here when it happened."

Shawn quickly shook his head. "Mom, there's nothing you could have done. Dad died in the field, nothing could have changed that," he said flatly. He mentally thanked Gus for looking steadily ahead and not at him as he talked to his mom. He was tired of people looking at him with pity, and was relieved that Gus wasn't a part of that audience.

"Shawn-"

"Can we just not talk about it?" Shawn interrupted.

He felt his mom's hand on his shoulder and she nodded. "I missed you, Goose," she said.

"I missed you too, Mom," Shawn said, thinking about shifting so she would take her hand off his shoulder, but at the same time not wanting to.

One of the last people to arrive was Jack Spencer. Shawn remembered the last time he saw his uncle. It had been five years ago, when he came back from some far off island he had been exploring. Henry never did like it when Jack visited, but Shawn got the feeling that the brothers had been close once. Shawn felt a twang of grief as Jack stood up there by his dad. Shawn watched Jack as he put something into Henry's casket. He looked up and smiled upon seeing Shawn.

"Hey, there," Jack said. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" he said. Shawn had never seen Jack looking so serious, but even now he could see a small sparkle in his uncle's eyes. It made Shawn smile.

"Treasure hunting treating you well?" Shawn asked.

Jack shrugged. "I almost made a profit, but ah…some of the natives gave me a little trouble."

Shawn almost smirked. It was nice really. Even while everything else seemed different, Jack Spencer could be a constant, never changing.

Jack took something out of his pocket and gave it to Shawn. "Here, I gave one to your dad, but I think you'll be needing one too."

Shawn looked down to see the single copper penny that Jack had shoved into his hand. "The world could use a little more luck," Shawn remembered. "Thanks, Jack."

His uncle nodded. "Forgive me for not staying, but funerals have never really been my thing." If it were anyone else Shawn would think they're being a callous bastard, but Shawn could see the hint of sorrow in Jack's eyes as he looked at the casket one last time. He walked away as the funeral began. Shawn fingered the penny in his hand. He could use a little luck after the events of this past week.

The pastor stood up there, in his black robes. So much God damn black. He couldn't stand it. Shawn made a note to never have it at his funeral. It was too depressing.

The man began speaking about Henry's life. How he had been a great man, a trusted officer, and a loving father. Shawn wasn't so sure about that last part.

He said that Henry was a hero. He had given his life in turn for a stranger; the ultimate sacrifice. Under the pressure of the moment, he had made the choice to go in and save a hostage, to save his fellow officers. He had died a noble death; a hero's death. For this, he would never be forgotten.

A hero's death…Shawn hadn't thought of his father as a hero since junior high. He had given his life for another, but had left his son and (_almost ex_, Shawn thought bitterly) wife behind.

A hero's death or a regular death…either way it was just death.

People went up to the casket then, and Shawn knew he couldn't avert his eyes from it much longer. People began walking up to him, shaking his hand. _We're so sorry for your loss. He was a hero. He was a legend among policemen; he'll never be forgotten_.

All Shawn wanted to do was forget. But apparently that was impossible.

It was the policemen who came up to him that puzzled Shawn the most. They had an almost expectant look in their eyes, looking at him in almost awe. Like because his dad was a cop, he would be too. Because his dad was a legend, he would take up the badge and follow in his footsteps. They looked at him, expecting him to be a hero, just because his dad was one too.

Shawn sighed inwardly. He had been planning to run away. To escape his problems, to escape Santa Barbara, and go explore the world. He was planning on never using his observation skills to solve anything more serious than a case of lost keys. And he was absolutely never going to become a cop, no matter how good at it he would be.

_Not exactly hero material_, Shawn thought.

A kid came up to him next, a boy about his age. He had sandy blonde hair and his eyes lacked the expecting look in them, instead appearing haunted. "Your dad saved my life," he said shaking Shawn's hand. "I thought I was going to die. But then he saved me. He was a hero to me," he said shakily.

Shawn nodded, feeling the lump in his throat worsen. So this was what he was going to be giving up on. By not being a cop, how many people would die? How many lives would there be that he could have saved, if he had just done what his dad wanted of him? What if he was fighting destiny by opting out of being a cop? Doubts filled his mind and Shawn swallowed.

Soon enough, much too soon for Shawn's liking, it was his turn to go up to the casket. Though his mom and Gus were at his side, he forgot about them, instead finally focusing on the face he had been avoiding for the entire event.

Shawn felt sick seeing his dad in that casket. Henry had his eyes closed, he was wearing a nice suit, and his thinning hair was neatly combed. Those details came to Shawn's attention easily, and then slipped away like rain drops being wiped away by a windshield wiper. But one detail came to his mind prominently, claiming his attention. His dad looked peaceful. More peaceful than he had in years.

Is that what you got when you were a hero? When you died a, "hero's death,"? Did you get peace; peace with knowing that you could make the ultimate sacrifice when life dared you to? Whether he wanted to be a cop or not, Shawn felt a little jealous of that peace. Henry got happiness, and he was stuck with feelings more confusing than a Gordian's knot.

A hero's death…

_"You want to be a hero, Shawn?"_

Being a hero…it sounded nice. He had once hated the idea; hated the idea of being a cop, hero or no hero. But now being a hero seemed more real. It was saving people. Shawn had wanted to be a hero when he was young. At first being a hero meant being Superman, flying in the sky and being invincible. And then his father set him straight. Being a hero meant being a cop. And then, in an act of rebellion, he had fought against being like his father. Like every kid does.

But what else did he have? He couldn't run away. Though he had been planning to for so long, the idea made him cringe now. Running away now would feel like stomping on his father's grave, blatantly announcing to the world that he was too good to save people. He couldn't live with that.

Shawn felt like all prior plans to this moment were slipping by him, wiped away by that imaginary windshield wiper. All notions of running away began to feel more and more shameful, and they were replaced with the crazy idea of actually doing what his father wanted.

Shawn wasn't so sure. He still didn't feel like he could be a cop. It just wasn't in him to carry a badge, to hold a gun. He just wasn't a hero. Not like his dad. Shawn looked again at Henry's peaceful face, and it almost felt like his father was there with him.

_"Become a cop."_

_I can be hero material,_ Shawn declared silently to his father, feeling like the thought was a vow.


	4. Chapter 4

_2009_

Shawn heard his alarm clock go off. Heard it, but didn't quite register it. He remembered fondly the days when he slept in until noon, then remembered that he shouldn't think about such times. Those were behind him.

Shawn sleepily rolled out of bed. He quickly made the bed, making sure to keep it looking as clean as the rest of the house. He rubbed his hands on his face, knowing he needed to shave before he started to get a five o'clock shadow.

Shawn went through his normal morning routine, letting the activity keep hold of most of his thoughts. Shawn put all of his attention into making sure he was presentable, then into cleaning the already tidy kitchen from last night's dinner. Best not to let his thoughts wander. You never knew what they could land on.

Shawn, fully awake and ready, put his badge on his belt and looked at himself once more in the mirror. When he looks in the mirror these days, he doesn't see the kid with the earring and 80's hair. He had gotten over that phase in his life pretty quickly. Now Shawn saw a cop. A clean shaven, neat looking cop, who carried a badge and had a police record cleaner than his own home.

Shawn averted his eyes from the mirror and grabbed his keys, heading out the door of his house.

Shawn turned on the radio as he drove his modest Ford, letting the music fill him and drive out any thoughts or feelings. He bobbed his head to the song and smiled.

He soon arrived at the police station. Shawn parked his car and went into the precinct, politely greeting everyone there. He put on a smile for everyone to see, and quickly walked to his desk in the corner of the room.

"Good morning, O'Hara," Shawn said as the young detective walked past his desk.

She paused by him and sighed. "Shawn, how many times have do I have to tell you to call me Juliet?"

Shawn shook his head. "Always once more, O'Hara," he said, grinning. She rolled her eyes, but didn't appear to get the reference. Shawn frowned and felt disappointed. He supposed that's what he got for trying to converse with someone anyhow. He was here to work, not make friends.

Though Shawn would never admit it to himself, he was a workaholic.

Shawn looked down at his desk, knowing that all paperwork was filed already. His partner was working steadily at his own desk, only looking up to order Officer McNab to get him some coffee. Shawn made a mental note to help the detective to lay off the three creams, four sugars.

Shawn whistled for a moment, then walked to the break room. He felt a twinge of guilt for skipping out on work, but told himself it was only because there was nothing that needed his attention at the moment. He took out his cell phone and dialed his friend, hoping he would answer.

"Burton Guster, manager of sales," Gus answered promptly.

"Hey, buddy," Shawn greeted leaning against the small table there. "Heard about the promotion. Congrats."

Shawn could practically hear Gus' smug smile over the phone. "Employee of the month five times in a row, and now the manager of sales at Central Coast. Damn good for a 33 year old."

Shawn nodded. "You're doing great for yourself, man."

Gus paused for a moment. "Any reason you called, Shawn? Is work okay?"

Shawn bit the inside of his cheek. Gus asked those kinds of questions a lot these days. Always wondering if he was okay, wondering how work was. Shawn was getting a little tired of them to be honest. He knew Gus' true motives, though his friend may not even realize them.

"I'm fine," Shawn said tonelessly. _I've been fine. _"Just had a little downtime, thought it'd been awhile since we hung out. You want to go see a movie or something this weekend? Scratch that, take Jessie over to my place and I'll make us some steaks. It's been way too long since I've seen her." To Shawn's ears his voice sounded pathetically hopeful.

"I'm sorry, Shawn. There's a company meeting this Saturday. I can't take the day off." Gus sounded truly sorry, and Shawn knew he was. But that didn't stop him from feeling disappointed. Shawn, realizing he was beginning to feel sorry for himself, quickly shut down, masking his unneeded emotions with a nothingness that he had been feeling for years. He liked it better this way. The numbness he felt every day helped him get through the week. Sure, it felt horribly lonely sometimes, but if it helped him cope…

And besides, he wasn't a baby; feeling sad because his friend was a little tied up at the moment (_more like fifteen years_) wasn't productive.

"That's cool," Shawn lied easily. "Maybe some other time."

"Definitely. Maybe we can get together when your mom comes in for her visit," Gus said.

"She came last week," Shawn sighed; feeling like this was a waste of time. Why had he even bothered asking if Gus wanted to hang out in the first place?

Gus sighed. Shawn could tell he had to get back to work. He quickly said, "Maybe next month we'll all get together. Anyway, I've got to go, mountain of work on my table."

Gus didn't seem to remember that Shawn had previously said that he had downtime, too preoccupied with whatever budget meeting he was planning. "Sure thing, Shawn. See you around."

"Bye," Shawn said hanging up the phone. He felt a strain between them and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could deal with that later.

But the sadness still came, both the sadness of his fractured relationship, and an older sadness, one he hadn't felt in a long time. Shawn winced and put his hand to his head. Oh God no, not here. Quickly blocking out any of his thoughts, he walked as fast as he could out of the room, almost jogging to the shooting range. He probably bumped into people, but he didn't care. He just needed to get to the shooting range, needed to let off some steam, that's all, nothing more. He was fine.

Shawn got down to the familiar shooting range, where a good deal of his time had been spent these past few years. His hand went to his gun and he brought it out. It was an older gun than most around the precinct. Though old, Shawn had always favored this gun over others. He put on the goggles and stuffed the ear plugs in his ears. He slowly lined up his inheritance with the target and emptied the chamber in seven quick seconds. The dull blast of the gun sounded in his ears, and the kickback felt good against his hands. He shot without even thinking about it, his hands automatically lining up the gun with the target's chest. There was only one hole in the piece of paper when Shawn brought it close to him. He smiled. Only one hole, but a damn big hole that had taken a round of bullets.

"How the hell you shoot like that will always be a mystery to me," a voice said from the stairwell. Shawn jumped slightly and turned to see Lassiter walking towards him.

Shawn smiled. "I learned from the best, didn't I?"

Lassiter nodded. "Your father was the best damn shooter this department has ever seen. Though with your record, you'll probably overcome him soon."

Shawn didn't say anything, instead quickly reloading his gun as Lassiter donned a pair of goggles and ear plugs. Lassiter swore he saw an intense sadness in the young detective's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by concentration as he let loose a magazine into the paper target.

"Down at the shooting range again?" He said it casually, but Shawn recognized the undertone of worry all too well. He quickly reloaded his gun.

"Just letting off some steam," Shawn shouted over the bullets.

"For the fourth time this week?" Lassiter yelled. Though he was trying to be casual about it, Shawn knew the questions were out of some sort of concern for him. How many times did he have to say it, he was _fine._

Shawn narrowed his eyes and quickly shot the target in the heart. He shot mindlessly, putting all his effort into lining up his sights with the target. Before he realized what happened the gun was out of bullets.

Shawn looked at Lassiter, who was staring at him in a kind of wonder. Shawn sighed. "It's been a hell of a week," he explained simply, shoving his gun back in its holster. Believe it or not, he did feel a little more relaxed. Shooting gave him control, it gave him peace. Shawn had been going there steadily since he enrolled in the academy, and his visits had been becoming more frequent as the years went on.

"I swear, it's like you go to another place when you shoot," Lassiter said. "Same with your investigating."

"Hopefully that place is a little better than this one," Shawn laughed, though not entirely joking. He smoothed down his suit jacket. "So did you come down here to shoot the breeze, or do you have a case for me?"

Lassiter looked at him for a moment and then shook his head. "Chief Vick wants to see you in her office." He sighed. "Listen to her, Spencer."

Shawn frowned, wondering what Vick could possibly want from him that could make Lassiter so solemn. He nodded to Lassiter and jogged up the stairs, heading back into the bullpen.

He politely knocked on the chief's door. "Come in," she said, and he opened the door. Shawn stepped in and stood at attention.

"You called me, Chief?"

Vick was surrounded by paperwork, and held a cup of coffee in her hands. The subtle bags under her eyes came to Shawn's attention. "Still having trouble finding a babysitter for Iris?"

"Don't worry about it, Detective," she said waving it away. "I'll find one for her soon. Now, please, sit down."

Shawn froze in his tracks for a moment, horror in his eyes. He slowly nodded and forced himself to sit in the seat. "What's wrong, Chief?"

"It's about your work hours," Vick said taking a sip of coffee. Shawn raised his eyebrows, still frozen in disbelief. "My…work hours? I'm not sure I understand. I clock in early, leave late, get all my work done. I even come in on weekends. What could be the problem?" Shawn looked genuinely confused.

Vick sighed. "That's exactly the problem, Detective. You're going to run yourself into the ground working this hard. Or do you not remember the Coffee Pot Debacle of 2003?"

Shawn winced. "I've learned from the past, Chief. I take care of myself and I do my work. What more do want?" he said a little exasperated. Couldn't people just leave him alone? Couldn't they just let him do his damn job?

"I want you to take a week off," she said simply. "It's just a week," she said rolling her eyes at his stunned expression. "Go to the beach, play video games, do whatever you do on your days off. Then come back next Monday and do your job."

"Are you shitting me?" Shawn said, perhaps a little louder than necessary.

Vick frowned, her eyebrows shooting down. "Detective Spencer!"

Shawn stood up and put her hands on his desk, making his head level with hers. "So I work all week, I try to save people's lives, and you just want to get rid of me! I'm the best fucking detective you've got!" he snarled pounding his fist against her desk. There was pure rage in his expression as he looked into the Chief's eyes.

She stood up and shoved her finger in Shawn's chest. "Mr. Spencer, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior." Her voice was quiet, but Shawn could hear every word.

"If anything, you're only giving me more reason to make you take a break. Now, get out of my office, and go home. I don't want to see you in this station until you've taken a break. Do I make myself clear?" she said gritting her teeth. Though her voice was calm, it was at its most scary, a voice that would leave any rookie cowering in fear.

But Shawn only stood in his place and glared. "Crystal," he said shortly, walking out of her office. He shut the door behind him and stormed off to his desk, fuming. He picked up his car keys and glanced at Lassiter's desk, watching the detective watch him. Shawn walked up to his desk. "I'll see you next week," he said tightly. Lassiter nodded. "It's for the best, Spencer."

Shawn overcame the urge to take a swing at the older man's head. "Best for whom?" he muttered as he jogged out of the building. He took the steps of the police station two at a time and got into his car, cursing. He slammed his foot on the pedal and drove off to his house, knowing it would be as empty and lonely as a tomb.


	5. Chapter 5

Shawn sat at the kitchen table of his house. It always felt strange calling it his home, though his name was on the deed. But to him, it would always be his dad's house.

Shawn hadn't changed a thing since he moved in here. There was still a disturbing amount of fishing paraphernalia on the wall, the old family photos were still there, and the fishing boat was still waiting in the garage for him to take it out. He wasn't in the mood for a fishing trip right now though.

Shawn had never spent enough time here to notice (he preferred to spend most of his time at the station) but this house was full of ghosts. Everywhere he looked there were pictures of his dad; every time he glanced over his shoulder there was an old memory waiting to greet him in the form of an old trinket of his dad's. Shawn wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. Bombarded by old memories, not all of them good, he was remembering the fights he had forgotten about long ago; remembering how pointless and idiotic they were.

Shawn took a sip of his beer, but found he couldn't stomach much more than that. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling frustration course through him, feeling so damn helpless.

When he opened his eyes, he had thrown the beer bottle against the wall. He felt the rage pulsing through him and took a deep breath. He couldn't feel angry. He didn't want to feel angry, he was _tired _of having to feel anger, feel period. It was just too hard. Was it so much to ask to just be able to not feel this way? Just to put a lid on his emotions and try to move on?

The shattered pieces were scattered around the kitchen and Shawn wearily grabbed a broom and swept up the mess of his burst of anger. He swept it up, knowing the lid he had kept on his emotions was slowly coming off. Without work to distract him, he had taken to diligently cleaning his already spotless house, but even that could only keep him occupied for a few hours. Once he was done, there was nothing left to do but to think. And to think was a dangerous thing. It only caused the imaginary lid he kept on his anger and sadness to come off even more quickly. He didn't need that. He just needed to go through his life not feeling. It had worked great for him before.

He hated this house. Shawn realized it then. He hated living in his dad's old house. He hated the guilt he felt every time he remembered a fight, and the sadness he felt every time he saw a family photo. Oh God, he hated it so much. Shawn threw down the broom and stepped over the broken pieces of bottle. He had to get out of here. It didn't matter what else he did, he had to get out of here.

Shawn practically sprinted out of the house, jumping into his car. He started the engine and began to drive, not sure where he was going. Usually his emotions began to strip away as he got farther from the house, falling off him and floating away. But this time they seemed to want to cling onto him, no matter how far he drove. Shawn, without knowing why, turned on his police scanner. He needed something to distract him, anything.

For a minute he just drove, letting the sounds of the police scanner calm him down. Then he began to listen to the police scanner more closely.

There was a robbery stand off on Galiger Street. It sounded like it was going badly; they were calling for all the backup they could get. Shawn bit the inside of his lip. He was on vacation. He was ordered not to come back until next week.

A sudden thought occurred to Shawn, and it made him grin. The chief ordered him not to go back to the _station _until Monday; she hadn't said anything about a bank. A bank that just happened to be rife with crime.

Shawn turned onto 2nd Street taking the quickest route to the bank he knew. He patted the gun in his holster, making sure it was still there. He took the car five miles over the speed limit, feeling a slight thrill in his veins.

This was more like a move that the old Shawn Spencer would make, the kid with the earring who loved to break the rules. Hell, he might as well grow his hair out and do something stupid like steal a car; it would get him in the same amount of trouble as he was getting himself in right now. Shawn knew he resembled that kid more than he did himself right now. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

But damn it if he didn't feel better than he had in a long time.

/

Shawn pulled up to the bank, eyeing the police cars gathered around the area. They were all paying rapt attention to the front of the bank, and Shawn's attention shifted to there.

He groaned. The robber was clearly not having a good time of it. He looked to be only in his 20's, and even from here Shawn could see the sweat covering his shirt. The kid was standing outside, a backpack of cash on his back, and holding a woman's head to his chest. "I'll shoot!" he cried, his voice trembling. "Anyone comes close and I'll shoot!" The woman was scared shitless, visibly shaking.

Shawn could see the officers trying to talk him down. And if it were any other robber it might have worked, but this kid was too desperate. He was ready to shoot at any time, whether it meant screwing himself over or not.

The police didn't know that. They didn't notice the subtle raise of his eyebrow, the slight clench of his palm. They didn't know he was going to shoot. They were just trying to talk him down.

Shawn had been with the police department for too long to think of them as incompetent, but right now he knew that they needed help. They needed him.

Shawn shoved himself through the crowd of people surrounding the scene and jumped over the barrier separating him and the criminal. This was as stupid as he could get, throwing police protocol out the window. He could practically feel the weight of an earring on his lobe.

"Hey there," he said calmly, putting his hands up as the kid swung around to meet him, pointing the gun at his chest. Shawn could see Lassiter's and Vick's astonished (and somewhat furious) expressions out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help but smirk.

"W-Who are you?" the kid asked.

"I'm a friend. See, no gun," Shawn said showing his empty palms, neglecting to expose his holster. But the kid was fooled, and he relaxed slightly.

"Look man, I'm not getting caught by these cops," he said shakily.

"I don't want you to get caught by the cops either," Shawn said, keeping his voice slow and reassuring. "But we don't need to bring that lovely young woman into this, do we?" Shawn laughed slightly. "I mean, she's not trying to arrest you, is she?"

The kid slowly shook his head. "She's not…but if I let her go, they'll shoot me," he said jerking his head at the cops.

"I won't let that happen," Shawn promised, crossing his fingers slightly. "Just hand me the girl and we can talk this out, okay?"

After a moment's thought this seemed to make sense to the kid and he nodded, shoving the woman towards Shawn. He continued to point the gun though, this time finding a new target. Shawn.

"Go behind the barricade," Shawn ordered the woman, and she nodded, running as far away from the gun as she could. Shawn continued to keep his hands up, smiling at the young robber.

"See? That worked out great, didn't it?" he said. "But if you want the police to leave you alone, you can't be armed." Shawn pretended to think for a moment. "Here, hand me your gun. I promise I'll give it back."

But Shawn apparently went too far with that one, the kid's eyes narrowing instantly. "No, you only want my gun so they can get me," he said, pointing it steadily at Shawn.

"No, that's no-"

"You're on their side!" he cried. "You're trying to trick me!"

"Listen, I'm not-"

The gunshot blast sounded in Shawn's ears, making everything else sound muffled. He felt himself jerk back, like he had been pushed by an invisible boxing glove. Everything seemed to swim together in front of him. He distantly heard another gunshot. He saw the kid fall down, his shirt stained by red.

Shawn felt dizzy, and fell onto his back. He hit the ground, feeling a massive pain in his side. He puts his hands to his ribs and looked at them. They were drenched in blood.

Shawn took a shuddering breath and looked down at his side, seeing the red liquid pour out of it. The light asphalt around him was now a deep purple. He looked around himself, confused. Lassiter was at his side now, putting his hands against Shawn's wound. Shawn cried out in pain and his vision became fuzzy. Lassiter continued doing it though, saying some nonsense about it being for his own good.

He could sense the crowd of panicking people watching him, watching the poor young cop who was going to die before his time. What a shame, him having to die so early like that. It was always the good ones that died young. At least it would be an honorable death, a hero's death.

_A hero's death or a regular death…either way it was just death._

Shawn heard the words his eighteen year old self had once thought and felt like the kid with the earring was right beside him. What was that kid thinking right now? Was he proud that he had died a noble death (_A hero's death or a regular death…either way it was just death)_, or angry that he had decided to follow in his father's footsteps even in his death?

He had been living his father's life. Shawn felt a surge of self loathing then. He was born a damn cop, and now he'll die a damn cop. Shawn felt the burning pain in his side and tried to remember how he had gotten here.

He saw the woman he had saved, standing behind the barricade. At least she was safe. Could he die to save another life? Apparently the answer was yes.

Shawn felt the world fading away from him, no matter how hard he tried to keep his hold on consciousness. He could hear the muffled cries of the crowd; hear Lassiter trying to keep him alive until the paramedics came. He could feel his suit soaked with blood; feel the gunshot wound that was making every breath a laborious task. He could see Lassiter over him, see the whole police station gathered around, see the paramedics come and get him on a gurney.

He saw his eighteen year old self for a moment. The kid with the earring and the ridiculous 80's hair staring at him in disbelief. In disbelief because he was a cop, a workaholic, everything he had promised himself he would never become. That he had nothing except his job saving people, and that it was the only thing keeping him going. Disbelief that he was resigning himself to death. That he still hadn't let go.

"I can't," he gasped aloud. The paramedics tried to tell him that he needed to stay conscious, not knowing what he was truly talking about.

_A hero's death-_

He couldn't let go. His dad was dead. His dad was dead, and he was going to die the same way.

_-or a regular death…_

Shawn felt himself going then. He wondered if things would have been different if he just could have let go. If he had just moved on. Living like this was more like death than anything else. Living in a permanent state of grief. Shawn didn't want that. It was time to let go.

_Either way it was just death._


	6. Chapter 6

He didn't expect to wake up. He had been dead after all. He had died a hero's death (whatever that meant).

But still Shawn stirred in his bed, feeling the deep pain in his side that all the morphine in the world couldn't mask. His breathing was harsh, and each inhale felt like knives cutting into his abdomen.

But he was alive.

Shawn swallowed and opened his eyes. "Dad?" he asked, trying to focus on the figure sitting next to him.

"Shawn…it's me," Gus said, feeling his throat close up as his friend mistook him for his father. Shawn sat back in his bed as he recognized Gus sitting next to him. "Oh right," Shawn said, a little surprised. "My dad is…dead."

He closed his eyes tightly as if he was trying to escape from a dream, but that proved impossible as he realized he was already cursed with consciousness. He sighed. "What are you doing here?" he asked Gus.

"You were shot, Shawn. You almost died," Gus said. Shawn looked at him and raised his eyebrows. His friend was wearing a crumpled dress shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. There were heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days. The last time he had seen his friend this disheveled was the night after the funeral.

Shawn shook his head, not paying attention to the fact that he had almost been a dead man. "No, I mean why aren't you at work?" Shawn's voice was horse from disuse, and he swallowed dryly.

Gus stared at Shawn. Was their relationship really so bad that Shawn would think he'd choose work over him? His stomach churned with guilt as he realized the number of times that he had.

Gus rubbed his temples and sighed. "I told them I was taking a few days off. And if they wanted to fire me for missing the damn budget meeting, then they could kiss my black ass goodbye."

Shawn sat silent for a moment, then burst out laughing, causing pain to erupt in his ribs. He couldn't stop though, and kept laughing, chuckling like he hadn't in years. "Dude," he said through his giggling. "You are so bad ass."

Gus laughed with him. "You know that's right." Their laughing soon died down as they realized it had been years since Gus had said that to Shawn.

"So what happened?" Shawn asked, looking out the window of his room. It was dark outside, the clouds covering the stars.

Gus punched him in the arm, and Shawn winced. "You got shot, that's what happened. Dude, what the hell were you thinking, going out into a robbery standoff like that? Vick says she's torn between firing your ass and giving you a medal." Gus scoffed and Shawn could tell which option was more appealing to him. Gus stared at his friend, seeing for the first time the stress lines on his forehead and the slight thinning of his hair. There was a raw look of hurt there, covered up by years of saying, "I'm fine." Gus felt tremendous guilt for not having seen his friend turn into the man he was today. And for not trying to stop it.

"You were dead, you know," Gus said quietly. "For a whole three minutes in that ambulance, you were dead. That's what they told me. And then I see you, and you're pale as a ghost from blood loss, looking like you're about to die for real. You've been like that for three days," Gus said, anger mixed in with his sadness. "Do you know how that made me feel?"

"I have an idea," Shawn said thickly. His eyes were watering, but he kept the tears back. "Kind of how I've been feeling for the past fifteen years."

He said it lightly, but Gus heard the truth in it. He almost felt like hitting himself. He had let his friend live in a kind of hell for fifteen years, and hadn't batted an eye. God, what kind of friend was he?

"I'm so sorry, Shawn," Gus said.

Shawn shook his head. "You shouldn't be."

Gus raised his eyebrows. "Don't try to tell me this wasn't partly my fault, Shawn. I will kick you in the shin."

Shawn smiled wryly, feeling a kind of nostalgic joy at his friend hanging out with him like this after so long. If only it were just hanging out, and not two friends who had drifted apart, only to be brought together by a gunshot.

Only now in the presence of his friend did Shawn realize how lonely he was. There had been no one there for the last few years, no one to even grab a smoothie with. Shawn had been living with an ache in his chest that could come only from the feeling of being truly alone. But now that he was with Gus he felt it lift slightly, become a little less crushing. Shawn didn't want that relief to go away.

"Gus," Shawn said after a moment's thought. "Do you want to know why I went and got shot?" he asked. He was genuinely asking; giving Gus the choice to take him back, or leave him for the life he had now.

Gus hesitated for a moment. It was only a moment, but enough to send guilt coursing through his mind. But in the end there was no doubt over what he would say in response to Shawn's question.

"Why?" Gus asked.

"I'm a detective," Shawn explained slowly. "When my dad died, I decided to be a cop. I don't even know why anymore," Shawn said wiping his eyes. "Some shit about needing to live up to him. I needed to, "carry on the Spencer legacy," or some other crap. So I became a police officer. I didn't think about my dad anymore, because that would mean questioning if becoming the cop was the right thing to do. And I was so sick of indecision."

Gus only listened. Listened to something he probably should have heard fifteen years ago.

"And then somehow…being a cop was all I had. If I wasn't a cop, I would have to feel all that crap, and I knew it would just hurt too much. If I wasn't a cop I wouldn't be able to cope." _I wouldn't be hero material. _

Shawn took a break to breathe, feeling winded just from this short speech to Gus. He forced himself to go on, knowing if he didn't get it all out now, he might have to go back to the way he was before. An unfeeling droid.

"I don't think I ever let go of my dad, you know?" Shawn said his eyes red. "I never thought about him – I couldn't let myself – but I never let him go. I lived in his house, cooked his steak; I lived his damn life," Shawn chuckled without any humor. "And I just couldn't take that anymore."

"Shawn," Gus said slowly. "If your dad was still here, I think he would have made us talk about this years ago."

Shawn laughed again, feeling his sadness break a little as a shard of happiness came into it. "He would have."

He sighed and looked at Gus again. Gus knew Shawn hated exposing himself like this, but the fact that he did it anyway was enough to make Gus hope that his friend could be happy again.

"Gus…" Shawn said, a tear managing to escape his eyes before he quickly wiped his eyes. "I miss my dad."

"I miss him too," Gus said, pretending to not notice the trail the tear had left on Shawn's cheek.

Others came to visit Shawn in his hospital bed. Some gave him a pat on the back for what he had done, some dressed him down for being an idiot. Shawn had fully expected to recieve a lecture from Lassiter for putting himself in danger like that.

Lassiter came in the same day as Gus had, to get his statement. When he walked in he simply said, "Spencer, you're an idiot."

"Well, I don't know about that," Shawn said. "Most go with 'genius', or even 'the most amazing man I've ever seen in my life.'"

Lassiter rolled his eyes. He sat at the side of Shawn's bed, only sitting there for a moment. Then he looked Shawn in the eye. "I'm not here to get touchy feely or anything like that," he said. "I'm just here to get your statement."

"But your father was my hero," he admitted. "I looked up to him, everyone did. And when you enrolled in the academy, I saw an opportunity to take you under my wing, to repay your dad for all he taught me. Truth be told, I probably expected too much of you. It sometimes felt like the police station expected you to follow in your father's footsteps." Lassiter pointed his pen at Shawn. "I don't think any of us expected you to follow his footsteps to the letter though, Spencer."

Shawn couldn't decide if Lassiter's tone was accusatory, proud, or weary. Or perhaps some combination of the three.

"With all due respect, Detective, I was never one to act according to expectations," Shawn said, looking Lassiter in the eyes.

Lassiter smiled to himself and nodded. "You got that right, Spencer."

"Before I give my statement," Shawn said, a little hesitant, "could you give this to the chief?" He grabbed an envelope off his bedside table and gave it to Lassiter.

Lassiter looked at the envelope curiously. "What's this?"

"My two week's notice."

Lassiter looked at Shawn in shock as he put his hands behind his head. "I think I'll go to Mexico," Shawn said quietly. "I've always wanted to go there."

"The department will miss you, you know," Lassiter said, not sure if he was more surprised that Shawn was leaving, or saddened by the fact that he had known it would happen eventually.

Shawn nodded. "I don't think I'll miss it though."

Lassiter shook his head, amused. "You never were one to follow expectations, Spencer."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **This is the end. Thank you for reading. 3

Gus sat on Shawn's porch, watching his friend look out into the sunset. The two sat there, a take-out bucket of jerk chicken and two beers between them. Gus had practically been living at Shawn's house this past weekend, the two deciding to take a weekend off from work and life to hang out with each other and do nothing but play Nintendo.

Shawn shifted in his seat, wincing as he disturbed his stitches. Gus shook his head. After only a week in the hospital Shawn had left, not giving a damn about what the doctor said about his stitches. Gus had been angry, but Shawn had waved it away as needing fresh air after sitting in the hospital so long. Shawn had begun to heal though, his wound not bothering him as much as it did before, but still enough for Gus to be concerned.

Shawn sighed. "Want to go on a little trip, Gus?" he asked. Gus, knowing full well the two could end up anywhere in (or even out of) the country if Shawn took the wheel, rolled his eyes. But Shawn had a thoughtful look on his face, and Gus decided to give him the keys to his car.

Shawn and Gus walked out of the backyard, and Shawn stared at the house as if he were looking at it for the last time. A lot of memories were in that house, not all of them good. But both the home and the memories belonged to him; they always would.

Before Shawn got in Gus' car, he gave him a small, sad smile. Gus felt a deep sadness then. He knew what was coming. He had known it would happen for awhile, but hadn't been expecting it for another few weeks at least. Gus supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

The two drove, neither not entirely sure where they were going. On the car ride they were both joking and talking like they had in high school. Gus could feel their friendship come back as easily as if nothing had happened; as if the last fifteen years had just been a small road bump in their lives. It was more fun than Shawn had had in years. And, Gus realized, more fun than he had had in years too.

At last Shawn parked the car in a place the two hadn't visited in what seemed like an eternity. Gus saw a motorcycle parked next to the Echo and knew Shawn had planned ahead for this. Gus smiled. Shawn had even managed to find a Norton that looked identical to the one he had owned as a teenager.

The two turned to the acres of graves that stood before them. Shawn walked slowly, unsurely, as he led Gus across the grass of the cemetery. Gus wasn't sure where they were, but he knew Shawn had unwillingly memorized the location of the grave he was visiting.

The two bounded across the grass as they found their way to the grave. They must have walked for miles before they came across it, or at least that's what it felt like. After a few minutes of walking, Shawn stopped abruptly, and Gus knew that they had made it to the grave. The two stood in silence for a moment, reading the tombstone.

_**Henry Spencer**__  
__Devoted policeman__  
__Loving father and brother_

Shawn knelt next to the grave, and Gus watched him, giving his friend the space he knew he needed.

"Hey, Dad," Shawn whispered, feeling a little stupid talking to someone who was dead. "Sorry I haven't visited in awhile. Or fifteen years," he said in an aside. "But better late than never, right?" Shawn sniffed and emptied the contents of his pocket onto Henry's grave. From Gus' point of view, it looked like an earring and a penny. He didn't ask, knowing it was a private moment between the Spencers.

"I'll be sure to visit," Shawn promised, standing up again and facing Gus as if nothing had happened. The two began to walk towards the car again, not looking back at the grave behind them.

"Gus," Shawn said as the two approached the Echo. "I'm leaving."

Gus nodded. "I figured." Shawn walked over to his bike, seeming anxious, but also more excited than he had been in a long time.

"Where do you think you'll go?" Gus asked, leaning against his car as Shawn sat on his bike.

Shawn shrugged. "All over probably. New York, Mexico, Texas, Wisconsin," he listed. "Hell, maybe I'll just go to every state. Or every country," he said, seeming to like the idea. "I'll send you postcards; remind you not to overwork yourself."

Gus smiled, happy to see his friend so enthusiastic about something for the first time in awhile. One question still lingered on his mind, summing up all his thoughts at the moment. "Do you think you'll be okay, Shawn?" Gus asked.

Shawn thought for a moment. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But I think it's time to leave," he said as he revved the engine of his bike. "Time to try and let go."

After all the setbacks Shawn had suffered through, he was finally taking his road trip. In spite of his sadness at leaving his friend behind, Shawn smiled. For the first time in fifteen years, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be.


End file.
